Greenwich Park by Katherine Faulkner (read book txt) 📗

there once. Didn’t care for it. Full of smackheads.’

I take a deep breath, try to smile. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘I guess I’m just a bit surprised that … she would work there. That she would pick up guys at a club. I didn’t think she was like that.’

Jane snorts with laughter. ‘Well, think again. Sorry, but she was a nutcase.’

I try to smile again, though I’m definitely not warming to Jane. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sure the police have already asked. But, well, we’re all so worried. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?’

‘Nope.’ Jane shakes her head, wipes a smudge of pasta sauce from the side of her mouth with her hand. ‘We had a row when she left. About the rent. She was late with it. And then I saw she had all these fifty-pound notes in her purse. Must have been at least a grand in there. I was livid. But she refused to hand it over. It was six hundred pounds she owed us. Still does.’

Jane picks her fork up again.

‘I told her if she wasn’t going to pay rent, she needed to go. My dad’s a solicitor. I told her we’d take her to court. I know it sounds harsh, but me and my flatmates – we’d had enough. It wasn’t just the drinking, the smoking, the blokes, the mess. She was just so weird, and rude. And – ugh, she was just mental.’ She shivers at the memory. ‘Sorry. Maybe she was going through a bad time, I don’t know. Anyway, she left then. Didn’t say a word. She packed up her things, took her suitcase, and left. She said we could keep her desk.’ Jane motions to Rachel’s old room with her dirty fork, gives a hollow laugh. ‘As if an old desk makes up for the £600. It’s a piece of shit from Ikea! I don’t know what she even used it for. It’s not as if she was studying or anything. But she would sit there for hours, playing her annoying music. She used to say she was doing some project. She had all these newspaper cuttings up on that wall at one point. She left about a thousand Blu-Tack marks. We’ll probably lose our deposit.’

‘Newspaper cuttings? Of what? What was the project about?’

‘Oh God knows. I didn’t look, I didn’t care.’

‘Do you mind if I take a look? At her cuttings?’

‘She took them all with her,’ Jane gestures to the hallway. ‘It’s just mess in there. Just a pile of old rubbish.’

‘Still, can I see? Was it the room at the end?’

Jane finishes her plate of pasta, takes it to the sink. Then she turns around and glares at me.

‘Do you know what, actually, yes. I do mind. You shouldn’t even be here. I don’t know what you’re doing, digging around, but I don’t want to get involved. I don’t want anything to do with it.’

Jane turns back to the sink and turns the tap on full, as if to indicate our conversation is over. ‘I think you should probably go now.’

I nod. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘Thanks for talking to me.’

In the lift on the way down I think about Rachel, sitting at her desk late at night. Newspaper cuttings stuck on her wall. What was her project? What was she up to?

On the ground floor, through the dirty windows, I see the rain is still battering at the glass. I pull my hood up, head home. I can’t face it tonight. But I know what I need to do next. Where I need to go. To the club Jane mentioned. The X.

I know exactly where it is. I’ve been there plenty of times.

It’s the club where Charlie works.

HELEN

I am so huge now I can barely drive, but the vet’s is too far to walk. The bump presses into the bottom of the steering wheel. I have to push the driver’s seat right back on its sliders. It is icy now, but none of my coats fit. I’ve pulled on one of Daniel’s jumpers instead, the sleeves bunching at my wrists.

As I start the engine, the radio blasts on automatically. I quickly turn the volume down. Monty is staring miserably out of his cage on the passenger’s seat. When we drive over speed bumps, the baby presses down on my pelvis. I wince. Monty howls. I squeeze a tuna treat through the bars. It makes the car smell like fish. I feel a wave of nausea, press the button to open the window. The air is sharp and cold; it makes me gasp.

And then I hear something that makes me turn the radio back up.

‘Police have today launched a murder inquiry following the disappearance of Rachel Wells. The 25-year-old disappeared in Greenwich, south-east London, after attending a party a fortnight ago. Police have been appealing for any information about her disappearance, which they described as being out of character …’

I feel hot all over.

I flick on the indicator, veer left and pull over so I can listen properly, cutting up another car in the process. He honks loudly. Monty starts to howl. I shush him, shove another treat through the bars.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Lauren Betsky said the force were keeping an open mind about her disappearance but had become increasingly concerned for her welfare. It is understood Miss Wells has not had any contact with her family or friends since the night of November 5th.’

I can hear my own breathing. I can’t seem to process the words. Murder inquiry. They think she’s dead. They think someone’s killed her. So that’s why they turned up yesterday. That’s why the new detectives are involved. That’s why they searched her room. Asked us everything, all over again.

‘At a press conference earlier this morning, her family appealed for anyone with any information on her possible whereabouts to come forward.’

I frown. Her family? She never mentioned any family. Except her mother, who she said she was going to stay with.

‘If